


fuck oklahoma (fuck manhattan)

by sapphicish



Category: Watchmen (TV), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Post-Canon, Spoilers for 1x07, brief cameo by petey whom i love and adore, i guess this counts as character growth that i am forcing upon her but god. at what cost, somebody please get laurie a therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicish/pseuds/sapphicish
Summary: “I don't have a joke for you this time. Life hasn't really been a hoot lately."Before leaving Tulsa for good, Laurie uses the Blue Booth network. One last time.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	fuck oklahoma (fuck manhattan)

**Author's Note:**

> cut to me thinking 24/7 about laurie talking to cal and calling cal hot and introducing herself to cal and angela at the funeral and angela looking between her and cal and cal saying do i know you and then laurie later on telling angela that she and cal had a chat at their home and angela's reaction to that and-

Laurie visits one of the call booths before her flight back home. It's the first time she goes to one in broad daylight – it makes her feel like a jackass, the way she feels like everyone she passes on the way there is staring at her even though not a single person is. Because no one knows who she is, and no one cares. People visit these booths all the time. It doesn't matter. Especially because it's going to be her last visit before she cancels her membership and never comes back to one of these things again. She tells herself this the whole ride over just in case she gets a feeling like she might chicken out, but that urge doesn't come. Not really. She brings the attache case with her. She sets it down by her feet when she sits. She taps in the number on the keypad. She holds the phone to her ear. She listens to the automated voice.

_Dr. Manhattan is listening._

“No he isn't,” are the first words of her fourth and last message since arriving in Oklahoma. First words of her last message total, though that feels weird to think about for too long. It's been a while. “And by the way, Trieu, since I know you can hear me? Fuck you.”

She waits a moment, licking her lips, feeling the anger resonate in her throat. Then: out it goes again, with her breath, flowing like a river. Or some shit.

“Hi, Jon,” she says.

She imagines him up on Mars instead of down on Earth in a fake body married to Angela Abar. This is the way she imagines him: probably naked since that was his favorite physical state for some fucking reason. Probably not listening even though he could even though he wasn't, actually. Maybe he was debating the nature of the Mars atmosphere with himself or something.

He could take her calls, anyone's calls, but he didn't. Because he didn't care, and she knew it, and she still kept coming anyway.

“I don't have a joke for you this time,” she says. “Life hasn't really been a hoot lately. But then, it never is, right? Anyway. I guess I _could_ joke. Like, hey, my ex who I thought was on Mars this whole fucking time is alive and well and married to someone else right here in the city I'm standing. Or, like—I don't know, I'm leaving now and this is it. It's done. I'm done. And I'm tired still. That's the joke, right? I'm tired. I'm fucking old and I'm fucking tired.”

She leans back against the wall of the booth. Wonders when she'll hang up. Wonders if she'll pay for a second call. She never has before, not in the same sitting, but who knows. Right? She can cheat. Make it one big call and then that's it. No one is around to know and if they were they wouldn't even care anyway.

“It's like, you have this whole life or whatever and you get to be happy, you know, however happy you can be, and I'm going back to my apartment and my fucking...owl. At least I've got Petey, right? He's coming back with me. Obviously. I've grown kind of fond of him. I guess you could call it fondness. You know, he's like a puppy that pees on your shoes but you can't exactly kick it, right, because then you're the asshole? Then again, ever since we slept together he's been a little less annoying. That's not usually the way it happens. People usually get more annoying after I've given them my attention. Because they want more or whatever, right, but all he's done is give me a few weird looks while we're driving somewhere. Not really like he wants to pull over and fuck me, more like he wants me to pull over and fuck him. I don't, I mean, it's a goddamn rental. Usually he just looks at me like he wants to...I don't know, hug me? Must be because of my checkered past. He sure does have a lot of pity in him for someone who doesn't know me at all. Or maybe that's the problem, he knows too much about me but not the shit that actually matters. Or maybe too much of the shit that matters, and not enough of the shit that doesn't. I don't know.”

Laurie sighs into the long silence. “Hey, Jon, did you ever think about me? Shit, I've thought about you almost every day for years, not like – pathetic pining where I cry in the shower over you, but like...hey, I wonder what that prick is doing up on that stupid fucking planet. That's it. Just, hey, what's he up to? Did you feel any of that for me? Like you're shopping for groceries to come home and cook a great meal for your wife and you see the back of some redhead in the aisle over and you suddenly feel like it's, fucking...I don't know. Something. Did you feel something.”

_Sorry. Your time is almost up. You have fifty-five seconds to complete your transmission._

“Shut up. Christ, that gets annoying after a while. Anyway, what the fuck was I saying...oh, yeah. Fuck you, Jon. That's what I was saying. I can't even say _fuck you Angela,_ because she's not the one to blame. And we all know it. I don't – I don't know who 'all' is. It's you, me, Angela, Trieu, Angela's decrepit granddad, I guess? Mirror Guy, if Angela ever spills the beans to him. Which, Trieu, you should pass along the message if you ever get around to watching this thing...tell Angela to tell him. He deserves the truth. The whole truth. Even if he panics.”

_Recording complete. Thank you for being a platinum user of the Blue Booth network. Your message will reach Dr. Manhattan in approximately–_

“Yeah, yeah. Jesus. Give me a break.”

She pays for another call. It still counts as the one because it's the same visit, that's what she tells herself.

“This has been fun, but this is my last one, Jon. So I've got to make it last, right? I've got to get everything out. I could just sit here. Pretend that you're up there, listening to me breathe. You know I did that sometimes, early on? I'd close my eyes and picture you, perfectly, and then when I opened them I'd be so sick of the color blue that I couldn't wait to get out of the goddamn booth. Yeah. It was like...exposure therapy. In reverse. The more I looked at it the sicker I got. What's that called? Must be some kind of word for it. You'd know it, because you're a know-it-all. Anyway. Tulsa is shit. You know that? It's a really shitty place, Jon. I came here thinking, yeah, of course it's going to be shit, but then it just proved to be...even more shit than I expected. First the fucking Kavalry, and now all of this. I'm never coming back here. The next time some snot-nosed senator who's probably a secret white supremacist in charge of a fucking...maniacal order of racist pricks and idiots shows up at my apartment and tells me to go somewhere, you know what I'll say? _I'm retiring._ ”

Laurie sits in silence for a bit. Wastes the time that she has. It isn't like anyone's there to tell her to talk, just fucking talk already. She's got all the time in the world. Not really. She stares up at the blue top of the booth, taps her hand on her leg. “Hey,” she says. “I do have a joke, actually. You want to hear it? All right. The first day I met Angela, I told her that her husband was fucking hot.” She stops a moment, lets it sink in. She rolls her head back. Laughs and laughs.

_Sorry. Your time is almost up. You have fifty-five seconds to complete your transmission._

“Right.” Laurie takes a deep breath. “I've got to go now, Jon, or I'll be late for our flight and Petey will pout about it. Or worse, he'll just give me one of those awful _understanding_ looks that makes me want to deck him right then and there. Hey, at least we saved Tulsa from a bunch of white supremacists, huh? Well, the whole entire fucking world, I guess. At least there's that. Job done. Time to go home.”

Laurie stands up. It's the last time she's going to get the chance to do so in one of these booths because – there's no point in coming here anymore, following the routine whenever she feels particularly shitty, which was most of the time and is still most of the time. More than before, probably, because – like she'd said. Oklahoma was shit. Her vision is hazy so she blinks and immediately regrets it, because then the tears are loose. Just a few, but that's enough. Too much.

She wishes she could be angry instead – you know, the spitting fire sort of angry, the stomping around a room and smashing fragile glass possessions kind of angry. Maybe she'll do that when she gets back home. If she did that in the motel she'd have to pay for the damages. If she does that on the plane she'll have to be carted off like some sort of lunatic. If she does that in her apartment, well...she'll just have a huge fucking mess to clean up and a fretful owl to soothe.

But like she'd said, she was tired. Too tired to be too angry, and mostly she just wanted to get on the plane and sleep until they got back to base. And then sleep some more. 

“Goodbye, Jon,” she says – more used to saying _good night._ There was always the unspoken _see you later. Talk to you again soon. Even though I know you aren't listening._

Now that she knows that for sure, well –

Yeah.

“Also,” she says, “I'm getting rid of your dick.”

_Recording complete. Thank you for being a platinum..._

She puts the phone back early. Maybe with a little more force than necessary, but whatever. Wipes her face. Takes one last look around the booth. Just the same as ever – quiet after the call, like the silence after an explosion. And small. And, Christ, really fucking blue. She doesn't know what she's looking for.

She doesn't find it, so she steps out, takes the case holding Excalibur with her.

On the way to the car where Petey's waiting, she tosses it in a trash bin.

“Hey,” she says, raps on the window. He's hunched over a bunch of documents strewn across his lap and he straightens hastily when he sees her, leaning over to unlock the doors. She stands there a moment. “You wanna drive?”

He looks at her, then at the steering wheel, then back at her. His eyes brighten like a kid who's just been told he's getting a pony for Christmas. “...Really?”

“Sure,” Laurie says, climbs in the back. Closes her eyes and listens to him scramble to get rid of the documents quickly enough, circle around and ease into the driver's seat. “I'm feeling generous. And I need a goddamn nap.”

“Are you glad we're done here, Agent Blake? Happy to get back home, I mean. I'm sure your owl misses you—”

“Petey?”

“Yes?”

“Just drive.”

**Author's Note:**

> agent petey protection squad because he is such a fan of laurie and i also am such a fan of laurie
> 
> also, i am actually very into the whole cal is manhattan thing and angela literally can do NO wrong. these are the facts


End file.
